Recently, I renewed a long distance love obsession. Ever since I was 13 years old, I have had a fondness for England. I used to think I wanted to visited Manchester, because I liked the Monkees and Davy Jones was a former resident. I taught myself to sing by listening to music from the British invasion. It was years later when I had to untrain myself to NOT sing with a British accent.
I have a habit of picking up accent, anyhow, so it shouldn’t have surprised me to find I had been carrying around a little bit of the British accent in my regular dialogue all these years. This has made for many moments of family laughter (I wasn’t part of the actual laughter, just the source of the joke) when I pronounce words so differently from an American. It was only a few months ago, when my younger boys posted their Lego creation videos to Youtube that distant friends began to email me and ask why my children had slight British accents. “Have you met their mother?” I asked.
The accent has only become worse in the last month, as I discovered The Bay. It’s my favorite radio station. I stream it all day when I am online. By evening, I not only have my times mixed up, but cannot shake the Lancaster accent. The best part? It not only feels so much more natural, but people can actually hear me. You have no idea how many times I am sure I am screaming far too loud and people ten feet away think they MAY have heard a breeze blow through, but they aren’t sure. It’s a strange thing to suddenly be heard.
But, I got a little sidetracked. It’s not all about the accent. It’s about the beauty and the history. What a laugh it was (this time I get to laugh) when I realized Lancaster is not far from Manchester. It looks like my heart has always been set in that area.
Which is why I have announced that despite my currently being a struggling, starving writer, I will live in England when I turn 50. Only 10 1/2 years to go. I have said it. It will be done.